The Kid Will Be All Right
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: The Kids Are Alright tag: Dean knows he made the right choice.


**The Kid Will Be All Right**  
K Hanna Korossy

"Nothing about this is screaming werewolf or wendigo to me, Sam."

Dean glanced up at his brother from where he was crouched on the ground, in time to see Sam wince and turn away, throat working against rising nausea. He watched his brother a second before looking back at the body in front of him. It was stupid and wrong and weak of him, but Dean still noted every flinch with relief as further proof Sam was _his_ Sam, that his brother hadn't returned wrong. And right now, Sam was reacting exactly as Dean would have expected him to.

His gaze trailed over the torn body of the woman. Not that he was enjoying the sight that much, either. The victim had been dead for hours, her body corpse and her blood pooling in the lower parts of her frame and rigor setting into her fingers and face. She'd been torn open from neck to groin, and parts were…missing. What had really gotten to Sam, though, and made Dean twitch, too, was that from the shape of her belly, she'd been pregnant.

"So what do you think did it?" Sam asked, voice muffled. "Lunar cycle is right for a werewolf."

Dean grimaced as he pushed back to his feet. "I don't know, man, it's only the second attack in three days. That could just be a coincidence. I mean, you didn't find any attacks from a month ago, right?"

Sam's gaze shifted for a moment to the woman, then quickly bounced back up to Dean. "No," he said reluctantly.

Dean shook his head once. "Then this could still be anything, Sam, you know that." He started walking again, shotgun swinging in his grip.

Sam trailed after. "A wild animal in a suburban park?" he asked skeptically.

He had a point. That was one of the things that had initially twigged their interest. In another hour, it would be light, and the place would be crawling with families. The body would be quickly found, although Dean made a mental note to call it in first so some kid didn't stumble over the gory scene and end up in therapy for the rest of his life. They'd already noticed the higher police presence in the area as they'd hiked in, probably looking for Mom.

The location made a wildcat or a bear next to impossible. The lunar cycle was suspicious. But what had grabbed Dean's attention was the one description they had from the first attack, of a four-legged animal that seemed to appear out of nowhere and disappear just as fast. It pretty much screamed their kind of job.

Not to mention, the demons they were _supposed_ to be hunting all seemed to be hiding.

Dean shook his head as he walked deeper into the neighborhood park. Cities were crawling with human predators. Wild areas were, well, wild. But this, a suburb straight out of the Brady Bunch? This was supposed to be safe. A woman with a baby in the oven should've been able to take a walk without getting torn to pieces. The kid should have had a chance to grow up. They should've had their chance at normal.

And, yeah, he was still talking about the victim.

There was a low growl from the foliage somewhere around them.

Dean felt Sam close the distance between them, the promise of his brother at his back both relief and freedom to focus on the threat. Dean hefted the shotgun and searched the brush, looking for the source of the sound.

"Might not be what we're looking for," Sam murmured.

"Might be a freak giant squirrel," Dean concurred. He paused. "Kinda like you with a tail."

Sam ignored him. "Or it-"

A rustle of leaves and Sam's sudden shout was the only warning Dean had before the creature struck. He whirled around, firing before he registered more than the flash of fur and bared teeth. The witness had been right, the thing moved _fast._

An inhuman cry of pain told him he'd hit his mark. It wasn't enough. The creature closed the last bit of distance between them and sprang at Sam, who went down under its weight.

Dean cursed, angling for another shot, and realized there was no way he could take one without risking hitting Sam. His brother grunted and rolled under the weight of his attacker, arm momentarily jammed against its throat to keep the teeth away from his neck, but he wouldn't be able to keep it up long.

Dean dropped the gun and pulled his Bowie knife out, then threw himself at the creature.

The slice into its back must've severed its spinal cord: its hind legs went limp. Still, it continued to gnash its teeth and snap at Sam relentlessly, and Dean sank his blade between ribs and vertebrae three more times before he started to feel the powerful muscles give way. Sam gave one last exhausted heave, and the creature rolled off with Dean. He instantly shifted and buried the knife in its eye, bearing down until not a twitch of movement was left.

Dean leaned against an arm thrown out for support and, panting, looked back at Sam. "You okay?"

Sam, heaving in breaths of his own and still flat on his back, looked disheveled and spent but unbloodied. He nodded, hair brushing the grass. "'M good."

Dean nodded back and turned to his kill, studying the creature, one eyebrow slowly rising. "Dude…it's just a dog."

Sam pushed up on his elbows, eyebrows trying to disappear under his sweat-plastered bangs but only succeeding in rumpling them further. "You're kidding."

"No. Looks like one of those…you know, Cujo dogs."

"Saint Bernards?" Sam levered himself up to his knees and crept forward to get a better look. "Huh. You're right. And see the mouth?"

Dean made a face. "Rabies?"

"Rabies." Sam sank back on his haunches. "Guess we know now why it was attacking people."

"Just like Cujo. Great." It wasn't the first time scared civilians had mistakenly put them on the trail of more natural prey. Dean pulled his knife out and wiped it on the grass, then hopelessly tried to shake blood off his hands and soaked jacket. "You sure it didn't get you? Not even a scratch? Drool on you, anything?"

Sam's mouth bent up, his way of acknowledging Dean was worried about him. "Naw, man, I'm good, just knocked me over. So, real question is, do we just leave it here? Let the authorities figure it out? It had to catch rabies from another animal."

This was why he always hated the non-supernatural jobs; you couldn't just salt and burn the evidence away. Dean shrugged. "We can always call it in with-" Another sound, soft in the night air, caught his attention, and he cocked his head, listening.

Sam's face was also creased with concentration. "Is that a…?"

_Nah_, Dean said with a look…but it sure sounded like it. Only one way to find out. He pushed up, grabbed the shotgun, and headed into the brush once more.

The racket grew louder as they approached, and while the growl and rustle of the rabid dog had raised Dean's hackles and triggered an adrenaline rush, this clamor caused a very different reaction. The drive to respond was unexpectedly fierce, the need to protect almost as strong as whenever Sam was in trouble.

Maybe because, Dean thought as he pushed some greenery away and spotted the source of the noise, Sam was the only rugrat he'd really known.

"It's a baby," Sam said blankly behind him.

Dean took a second to pause and give him a _duh! _look. "You figure that one out all by yourself, Einstein?" He pushed his way through the shrubbery and bent by the wailing infant, swaddled in one of those stupid harness things Dean had seen some mothers wear like they were kangaroo wannabes or something. No way of telling the kid's sex from its red face and green outfit, but the age was pretty obvious. "It's young."

"Uh…yeah," Sam said, crouching beside him, and Dean spared him an exasperated glance.

"I mean, it's only a few days old." Realization struck, and Dean glanced back the way they'd come, the body he couldn't see but knew was lying not forty feet away. He cursed softly to himself.

"What?" Sam asked.

"The woman. She wasn't pregnant. She just had the kid. They don't get back into…shape-" He gestured vaguely, hoping Sam would figure out the rest because he _really_ didn't want to get into it.

"Oh." Sam frowned. "How do you-?"

"Never mind," Dean said curtly. He scanned the area around them one more time, then turned his attention back to the kid. It had stopped crying briefly at their arrival, distracted from being cold, hungry, and very probably wet, but was at it again now, and the draw was almost…okay, not maternal, because Dean Winchester didn't _do_ maternal. But it was…tugging at him. Flashes of memory slipped through his mind: Sammy crying in the crib, Daddy-Dad-looking like he didn't hear, Dean crawling into the crib with the baby, figuring out how to get him out of there, how to feed him, how diapers worked. How Sammy never cried when he was tucked against Dean. It had etched something defensive and imperative deep into Dean's heart. Something even death hadn't been able to break.

"Dean?"

Sam's quiet voice pulled him out of the memory just as sure as the sniffling crying had pulled him in. The baby had exhausted itself, cries mingling with shuddering sobs now, and he reached for it automatically, just wanting to make it stop.

"Hey." A hand on his arm froze his motion, and Dean turned with a frown to look at Sam. "You sure about that?" Sam asked.

Dean blinked. "Dude. It's a baby. It's not gonna bite my head off."

"You ever hear of cannibal babes?"

Dean blinked again. "You're joking, right?"

"They lure people in with their crying and get them to put a finger in their mouth to suck on. Next thing the person knows, the babe's stripping their bones clean."

Dean stared at him. The scary thing was, Sam looked so earnest, like he really believed a squalling newborn was going to _eat_ Dean. Another time and Dean would have thought it verged on heartless-were they just supposed to leave the baby _there?_-but this wasn't wrong-Sam. This was just his brother the dork, and Dean bit down on a fondly amused grin he knew would've ticked the guy off. "Seriously, Sam, you gotta stop reading Bobby's books. I think they're getting to you." He turned to reach for the baby again, and felt Sam's fingers tighten in his sleeve. Dean huffed in exasperation. "Okay, fine, you get ready to shoot it if it looks like it's going all Chucky on me, but I'm not leaving it here, all right?" He pinned Sam with a look, eyebrows rising.

Sam hesitated, then nodded and pulled out his gun.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to the baby.

He picked it up carefully, not because he was scared it had a taste for human flesh, but because newborns were unusually…wobbly. Sliding it out of the stupid harness, Dean felt the warmth of the baby's body even as frigid little fists batted at him. It had an unusual amount of hair, jet black like its mom's, and eyes that looked blue in the moonlight, in a round, squashed face. It paused in its crying to assess this new situation, and Dean took advantage of the lull to croon a few words to it, then tuck it in close to his ribs, wrapping his jacket around the tiny form.

Sam's eyes were wide, his gun still in hand.

"Satisfied?"

He could see Sam wavering, but his brother's own protective instincts ran very high those days. Dean sighed aggravatedly and grabbed Sam's free hand. Before his brother could protest, Dean had stuck the cleanest knuckle he could find into the whimpering baby's mouth.

It immediately started suckling, in a decidedly non-cannibalistic way.

Sam yelped, not jerking away only because of Dean's iron hold. "Dean!"

"What do you want me to do, Sam?" Dean snapped back. "I'm covered in blood. So, are we safe from the toothless wonder here, or do you wanna wait and see if it pulls a knife on us?"

Sam's gun dropped, and even in the wan moonlight, Dean could see a flush creep over his face. "Yeah, uh, I guess it's okay."

"Ya think?" Dean asked dryly.

The baby, realizing no milk was forthcoming, started to cry again.

Dean let go of Sam's hand and pulled the kid a little closer, leaning back slightly so it rested against his chest. He hid a smile as Sam examined his wet finger suspiciously, then wiped it on his jacket with a faint grimace. Dean pushed himself to his feet. "You ready to get out of here?"

Sam grabbed his shotgun distractedly as he put his gun away, his eyes glued to the small head sticking out of Dean's jacket. He fell into pace beside Dean as they headed back to the car. "Dean. We can't just…"

"Dude, don't you think I know that?" he answered, more irritably than he could have explained why. Of course they couldn't keep it. It probably had a dad who would get at least his child if not his wife back, and the road was no place to raise kids no matter how much Dean had defended their father. But especially not when one of them was living under a death sentence. "You want me to just leave it here?"

"No, of course not," Sam said quickly. "I just…we need to drop it off somewhere."

"Right. We'll just walk in to the police station, me covered in blood, hand it over, and tell them where to find the mom. I'm sure they won't have a problem with that." The baby, probably having given up for now on food and worn itself out with crying, had settled for being warm and cuddled. Its eyes were drooping, tiny mouth puckered open. Dean wrapped his jacket more snuggly around the kid, one arm crooked low to support its rear. Whatever foolish reason the mom had for taking her new baby out for a late-night walk, she'd at least bundled the kid up warmly. She'd probably hidden him when the dog had started coming after her and led it off. She had done what she could to save her child, even at the cost of her life. Dean respected that. More, he understood it.

"I could take-"

"No."

It was sharper than he'd intended, and the look in Sam's eyes said his brother had heard it, too. Dean looked uncomfortably away, not feeling the least bit better when Sam's voice softened in understanding. "All right. Then we'll go back to the room, you get cleaned up, and I'll figure out where we can take it."

_It _seemed kind of cold, but it wasn't like Dean even knew which side the kid played for. He just nodded, angling his body through the brush so none of the branches scratched the fragile bobblehead. Sammy had been like that, too; Dean remembered laughing about it with their mom, learning how to hold the baby so his big head was supported…

"Dude, are you…rocking?"

Sam's voice kept pulling him back, and Dean was annoyed with himself for his wandering mind. Still, a piece of him hung on to the memory even as he threw Sam a glare. "You want the kid screaming again?"

"No…"

"Then I'm rocking," Dean snapped. He hadn't really realized he was, actually, but so what? It was what you did with babies, some kind of instinct. You didn't have to be a mother to get that.

Sam wisely didn't say another word as they trekked back to the car. Dean automatically headed over to the passenger side of the car, while Sam dug into his pocket for his set of keys. He tossed the shotgun into the back seat, not even hiding his curious gaze as Dean gingerly slid into the front. "We don't have a carseat," Sam said quietly.

"Gee, must've left it back at the motel," Dean snarked, then realized Sam didn't deserve that. "We're not going far," he added softer, glancing sideways at Sam as his brother got into the driver's seat. "Just…drive carefully."

Sam nodded and started the car.

Dean watched the baby, while he felt Sam watch him. There was a little strawberry birthmark on the back of the kid's neck, and its red face had smoothed out in sleep. The small fist balled against Dean's sternum had long fingers. It disappeared inside Dean's hand when he grasped it, relieved to feel the skin was a little warmer to touch this time. The baby took a hitching breath and fell silent again.

"Looks a little like your baby pictures," Sam ventured from the next seat.

Dean looked up at him with surprise. He'd never much looked at himself in the old pictures Jenny had given them from their house, concentrating on his parents, on Sammy. He shook his head. "Dude, the hair's all you. You came out looking like you needed a haircut."

Sam's mouth softened into a smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't think Mom wanted to, though." Dean stared unseeingly out the windshield. "I'm not sure, but I think Dad wanted to cut it and Mom told him no way, she liked your curls." He took a breath, glanced at Sam. "Probably secretly wanted a girl."

Sam chuckled. "It's your fault, man, you asked for a brother."

"Yeah," Dean mused. "I did."

There was a long pause, not really uncomfortable. Sam finally cleared his throat. "Dean…Ben Braeden…he wasn't…?"

"No." Dean pulled in a breath, feeling the small body against his rise and fall with his chest. It was a good feeling, being trusted and depended on like that, being able to wrap himself around something and protect it again like this. "Lisa said he wasn't. That I was off the hook." He almost smiled but couldn't quite pull it off.

Another pause. "You're sorry he isn't yours, aren't you?" Sam was watching him with way too much understanding.

"Nah." The lie came automatically. The truth took more effort. Dean tilted his head. "I mean, yeah, maybe a little. He's a good kid. Could leave a worse mark behind, you know? But, nah, this is for the best. He doesn't need a dad who's gonna disappear on him again in a year."

That pretty much ended the conversation.

The baby didn't wake by the time they reached the motel, and Dean got out of the car like an invalid, slow and stiff, arm bent protectively across the bundle at his chest. Sam got the door, shooting him stealthy looks Dean had no intention of translating, and let him in first. As Sam followed them inside, he was already shrugging out of his jacket and reaching for his laptop.

"Uh, Sam?"

"Yeah?" He glanced up distractedly.

"I can't hold the kid and take a shower at the same time."

Sam's brow puckered. "Uh…the bed?"

Dean snorted. "Kids fall off beds all the time-you took a couple of headers, yourself. Might explain a few things…" At Sam's clear exasperation, he caved. "'Sides, it's still pretty cold-it needs to stay warm. Like against a body. Which means, you're holding it while I shower."

He didn't see fear often in Sam's eyes, but it flickered there now. "What, me?" Sam stammered. "Dean, I don't know what to do with a baby!"

"It's real simple." He was already unwrapping the kid from his jacket, and miniature limbs twitched and stretched at the movement. "You just make sure its head and butt are supported…" Despite Sam's shrinking into his chair, Dean eased the kid against his brother's broad chest, arranged his arms in position. One of those gigantic hands was enough to splay across the entire small back, pointer finger and thumb propping its neck. The baby whined, fidgeting, then resettled into sleep as Dean grabbed one of his brother's hoodies from the overflowing duffel nearby and tucked it in around the kid. "See? There. Not so hard."

Sam looked like he was balancing eggs, stiff and uncomfortable, verging on panic. "Yeah, until it starts crying or…moving."

Dean grinned as he pulled off his bloody jacket. "You telling me you can't handle one little baby?"

"Yes!"

"Well…tough. Just pretend it's a dog-don't show it any fear and don't take your eyes off it, and you're good. I'll be right back." He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and headed for the bathroom.

"A dog won't break if you don't hold it just right," Sam called desperately after him.

"You'll both be fine," Dean tossed back, and ducked into the other room.

Despite his assurances, however, he showered as quickly as possible, keeping an ear out for any suspicious noises from the other room, either from Sam or the kid. There was nothing, though, just a soft murmur of sound. As Dean toweled off and pulled his jeans on, he cracked the door open curiously.

"…is a water baby. They're bad, not like you guys, but they're kinda cute, too. And this one's a-ah, no, okay, we won't look at the scary wendigo. How about Whitey? He's…yeah, okay, not so cute, but he's not bad in a…scaly…cow sorta way."

Eyebrows shooting up, Dean leaned out to take a look.

The baby was awake, wide, pale eyes watching Sam from under a wrinkled red forehead, like it was trying to figure out what to make of him. Sam had it tucked into the crook of his arm and was bouncing it a little up and down, movements still rigid and cautious but not so frozen with terror anymore. His own gaze moved between the laptop, where apparently he'd set up some sort of supernatural show-and-tell, and the baby's face. Even as Dean watched, his brother's whole face creased into a rare full smile. "Kinda ugly, actually, huh? Yeah…"

Dean pulled back into the bathroom, smirking. He wished he had a camera. Actually, he wished Sam smiled like that more. Wished for more innocent moments like this one. Wished he could be around to see when Sam held a kid of his own.

But at least he would do so someday. Dean nodded as he shrugged into a clean t-shirt. Sam would be okay. Dean knew his brother had his doubts, but he'd be all right on his own.

Dean pulled a notebook out from the bottom of his bag and scribbled a few lines into it, then put it away and moved briskly out into the room. Time to return the munchkin before Sam got his heart broken again.

00000

The car was quiet.

Sam hadn't said a word since they'd left the kid in a blanket-lined box in front of the local firehouse. They'd included a note about where to find Mom, then watched from around the corner as the baby was found and taken inside. Job finished, they'd headed back to the car and the open road.

Dean had an idea he'd been a little too late on the heartbreaking thing, though. He'd never even peeked to see if it was a girl they'd both fallen for.

He glanced over at Sam, taking in his brother's million-mile stare, then back to the road. "Hey, Sam."

Sam stirred as if waking from a deep sleep. "Yeah."

"When…" Dean stopped himself, started again. "_If_ the time comes. I want you to do me a favor."

"Another dying wish?" Sam asked dryly, straightening in his seat.

"Sort of." Dean shrugged. "Just look up Ben for me, huh? I'm…" He hadn't admitted this before, not even to himself, and Dean licked his lips, eyes bouncing all over the road. "I'm not sure Lisa was telling the truth. I mean, a blood test? What does that prove, anyway?"

He had Sam's full attention now. "You mean…you think Ben's…?"

He wasn't sure at all, even if he had his suspicions…but it would also give Sam purpose, and an intact brother was the best legacy Dean could leave behind. "Just…keep an eye on him, all right?" He cut his gaze over to Sam.

His brother met the look squarely and nodded. "I will, Dean."

"Thanks."

Dean hated the thought of leaving, but, yeah, he'd done the right thing.

Sam would see that someday, too.

**The End**


End file.
